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BOOK TREASURES 

OF 

Mi^CENAS 



BY 
JOHN PAUL BOCOCK 



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Ubc IRnicfterbocfecr press 

1904 



|U8I?Af?Ycf congress] 
Vwi) Copies rtace^ved j 

JAN 11 1905 
vWiSic CO xxc Noi 

GOHY 



Copyright 1904 

BY 

CAROLINE R. BOCOCK 



POEMS 

BY 

JOHN PAUL BOCOCK 



' DEDICATED TO HIS CHILDREN 

I 

BY 



THEIR MOTHER 



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IN MEMORIAM 

*' 1^ ARE WELL! since never more for thee 
1^ The sun comes up our eastern skies; 
Less bright henceforth shall sunshine be 
To some fond hearts and saddened eyes. 

" There are who for thy last long sleep 
Shall sleep as sweetly never more ; 
Shall weep because thou canst not weep, 
And grieve that all thy griefs are o'er. 

** Sad thrift of love! the loving breast 

On which the aching head was thrown 
Gave up the weary head to rest 
But kept the aching for its own." 



John Paul Bocock, who died in Wayne, Pennsylvania, on 
the seventeenth of June, in a cottage in which, he wrote a 
friend three months ago, he had expected "to spend some 
happy days," was a man of singularly fine taste and of un- 
usual attainments. Born and educated in the capital of the 
Old Dominion, where his family had long been prominent in 
political and social circles, he brought with him to his work 
in the North the best elements of Southern culture. For 
many years he labored successfully in journalism, having 
been connected editorially with several of the leading papers 
of Philadelphia and New York. His talents were of the most 
versatile nature, his contributions to the periodicals, which 
were numerous, comprising stories, essays, and articles on a 
great variety of subjects, and poetry of an excellent quality. 
His writings even on commonplace topics bore the marks of 
literary purpose and effort. All through his career, he was 
deeply influenced by a love for the classics, and there were 
not many men in the country who outranked him as a 
Horatian scholar. He has left behind him one of the largest 
collections in the world of editions of his favorite Latin poet, 
which he gathered from all quarters. Personally, he was 
of the most lovable character, and possessed of a happy 
faculty of humor which enabled him to make light even of 
the dire pain and distress of the long and severe illness which 
brought his bright and useful life prematurely to an end. — 
Harper's Weekly, July 4, 1903. 



Acknowledgment is due to the publishers of the following 
periodicals for their courteous permission to reprint certain 
of the poems contained in this volume : Scrihner's Magazine, 
The Critic, Leslie's Weekly, The Reader, Truth, Town Topics, 
New York Tribune, New York Sun, New York World, and 
The Boston Globe. 



IX 



THE BOOK TREASURES OF M^CENAS 

GOLDEN Gospels of King Henry, 
Writ in uncials of gold 
On the vellum's royal purple, 

By the cloistered scribes of old, — 
In these pages Kings and sages 

For a thousand years have pondered 
On the Book that still is deathless 

When the gold of earth is squandered. 

How a splendid, patient cunning 

Decked ' ' the Romance of the Rose ! ' ' 
In clear gold and gorgeous colors 

Every page immortal glows; 
Charles the Ninth has pored upon them, 

But no trace of cruel fingers 
Mars the fair leaves where the fragrance 

Of the rose of love still lingers. 

Shade of Gutenberg, bear witness 

To the Bible twice immortal: 
First and fairest book imprinted, 

Lamp that guides to Heaven's portal; 



THE BOOK TREASURES OF MAECENAS 

Fust and Schoeffer, fit companion 

To the Bible is your Psalter, 
"Grandest treasure ever offered 

Upon learning's holy altar," 

Here the 1470 Virgil 

Shows his face illuminated; 
Here the Doge's vellum Livy 

Tintoretto-decorated, 
And St. Augustine, on vellum, — 

Men would die for one such treasure, — 
Stand with rows of priceless Caxtons 

Waiting on Maecenas' pleasure. 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN 

SWEET as she sat in the twihght dim 
Echoed the strains of her Christmas hymn, 
SweUing soft through the cozy gloom 
And the wreathed grace of the fireUt room, 
SwelHng and falHng; and still it rang 
To the tune of the song that the angels sang: 

"Now, O Lord, for Thy tender grace, 

For the deathless love in Thy pitying face, 

For the pangs Thou hast borne that we might not bear, 

For the blessed sense of Thy constant care — 

For Thy dear sake be our sins forgot ; 

Change our hearts, Thou who changest not! 

"Help us, Lord, in the dark and cold, 

To feed Thy lambs. From the sheltering fold 

Some have wandered and lost their way, 

Some have found that the wolves betray. 

Some its shelter have never known — 

And yet, and yet they are all Thine own! 

"Now, in the glow of the Christmas-tide, 

For the sake of that tree on which Thou hast died, 

May there be never a Christmas tree 

But is blessed with the love we would learn from Thee 

For the poor, and the weak, and the lost — for them, 

As for us, rose the Star over Bethlehem." 



IN THE LIBRARY 

HERE in immemorial peace 
Sorrow finds a swift surcease, 
And Care knits her "ravelled sleeve" 
With the dreams that poets weave. 

Here the vines that Virgil trained 
Hang with clusters purple - veine d ; 
Here the ilex starts to view 
Murmuring songs that Horace knew; 

And that famed Bandusian font, 
Crystal-clear, as was its wont. 
Bubbles over with the glee 
Of a lilt to Lalag6, 

Here, from its Arcadian wood. 
Pan, half seen, half understood, 
Pipes his wild, bewitching strain 
Till the Dryads dance again. 

Charlemagne comes hunting here, 
Roland, too, and Oliver; — 
Hark! the music of that horn 
"On Fontarabia's echoes borne," 

Old-world phantoms, dearer far 
Than the new world's creatures are — 
Let the glittering riot pass. 
Hie manet felicitas. 



TO THE BANDUSIAN FOUNTAIN 

Horace, Lib. III., Ode XIII. 

FOUNTAIN of Bandusia, shimmering crystal clear, 
Here is wine that should be thine, flowers, too, are here; 
Thine to-morrow be a kid 
In whose budding brow are hid 
Horns that hint of dalliance and of battle's shock 
All in vain: poor firstling of the wanton flock — 
His the sacrificial blood 
That shall stain thy sparkling flood. 

When the Dog Star rages, Summer's burning heat 

Leaves untouched thy cooling wave and dewy shadows, sweet 

To the ploughman's weary ox 

And the thirst- tormented flocks. 
One among the famous fotmtains thou shalt be; 
Lo, I sing the rocky cleft beneath the ilex tree 

From whose hollow, rooted deep, 

All thy babbling waters leap. 



THE PALISADES 

NOW bright, now dark, now swift, now slow 
The lordly Hudson sweeps below 
The everlasting hills, that stood 
When Hendrik's ship first ploughed the flood. 

High on each battlemented crest 
The eagle built his lonely nest ; 

With loving awe the Indian viewed 

Their immemorial solitude. 

Prone at their feet the ocean tide 
Beats vainly at the vast divide ; 

Far past their castellated walls 

The Adirondack fountain falls. 

Farewell, ye mountain grenadiers, 

Ye, too, are "food for powder"; years, 

Grace, grandeur, into fragments blown, 

To make a vandal's paving-stone. 



SPRING 

SWALLOWS from the balmy South 
Brought the roses of her mouth, 
Spirits from the flashing seas 
Lent her eyes their witcheries. 

Ail the world 's renewed for her, 
Youth's perennial pulses stir, 

Thrilling through the frozen ground. 

Laughing to the blue profound. 

From the graves of yesteryear, 
That hold all we once held dear, • 
From the vale and mountainside 
Where earth's fairest children died, 

Lo, now blossoming to birth. 
The new offspring of the earth — 

Gone the yellow leaf of woe — 

In eternal beauty glow. 



A BATTLE-HYMN 

GOD of our country, with Thy might 
Bless Thou the battle for the right! 
Let every thundering turret-gun 
Proclaim Thy righteous will be done. 
Through hail of shot and clang of steel, 
From flaming deck and quivering keel, 
To Thee our hearts we Hft. Oh, Thou 
Who helped our fathers, help us now! 

To Thee we dip our colors low 
That never yet have bowed to foe ; 
Then to the bullets and the breeze, 
The stem contention of the seas. 
We fling their starry folds on high, 
And this must be our battle-cry : 

" Old Glory flew above the Maine — 
Ten foemen for each comrade slain! " 

On our proud banner be no stain 

Of secret fraud, of sordid gain, 
Of struggling patriots betrayed. 
Of free men's blood in lucre paid; 
8 



A BATTLE-HYMN 

Blue be its azure as the skies, 

As rich its red as honor's dyes, 

As bright its stars as those that keep 
Their vigil where our martyrs sleep. 

To none but Thee, oh Lord, we bow, 

Nor ever did, and will not now; 
Nor ever has our standard been 
Dragged in the dust by king or queen. 

This flag we serve east, west, north, south, 

And now proclaim from cannon's mouth: 
" Let vengeance still be Thine; and we 
Thy sword to scour the western sea." 



BOHEMIA 

SORACTE stands no longer deep 
In snow, but budding to the Spring; 
Where the boy Flaccus lay asleep, 

On Vultur's side, the doves take wing; 

Bandusia's fountain, crystal clear. 
Leaps to the south wind's soft caress, 

And Faunus hails the youthful year. 
Blithe in his glad, green wilderness. 

Come, let us follow gaily where 

The smihng, short, gray poet trod; 

Hark! Aufidus rolls on the air 
And headlong Anio gems the sod ; 

Beneath this ilex, Tyndaris, 

Her classic beauty all aglow, 
Sings to her lute of Circe's kiss, 

A love-song of the long ago. 

Is this Bohemia? Aye, the moon 
Spells her white magic on the air, 

And on the water writes a rime 

That laughs away old Time and Care. 

lO 



BOHEMIA 1 1 

Here come the loves of other days, 
Yea, even the dead whom we hold dear; 

Here every poet wears the bays 

And every warrior shakes the spear. 

High o'er this vale thy cold, white star, 
Oh, Destiny, stay for to-night! 
Fame, from thy temple shining far, 
Blot out for us the garish light. 

To-morrow we '11 attack the height. 

Brave a new wound for every scar, 
Wage a new battle for the right 

And hitch our wagons to the star, 

But, oh, to-night — we would forget. 

Here, 'mid the clusters of the vine, 
That even this glorious rose is wet 

With the fond dews of Auld Lang Syne ! 



A LITTLE GIRL'S FEVER-DREAM 

(To Pauline) 

I DREAMED I was up there! 
And I saw a lovely stream 
Run bubbling by in the meadow of sky, 
And it sang to me in my dream 

A strange, sweet song of rest — 

I think I can hear it now — 
"Come, cool your burning breast 

And bathe your fevered brow ; 

Wash, and you shall be clean, 

Whiter even than snow." 
I wondered what it could mean, 

And I longed so much to go! 

Oh, for the cooling bliss 

Of that current, crystal clear, 
To plunge to its gentle kiss — 

With never a thought of fear! 

Once more, perhaps, I may 
See that sweet land — and then 

I will lie and drink on that crystal brink 
And I '11 never be thirsty again! 



12 



HORACE IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 

Book I., Ode XII. 

" Ouem virum aut heroa lyra vel acri." 
Ad Theodonim Augustum 

WHAT man, what hero, Muse of mine, 
What god shall we, in notes divine 
Of harp or thrilling flute proclaim, 
Till joyous echo sound his name 
In Helicon's umbrageous coasts. 
On Pindus, or where Haemus boasts 
Of trees that rushed in eager throng. 
Of streams that paused at Orpheus' song; 
Orpheus, Calliope's own child. 
Whose wondrous art the winds beguiled, 
And even the listening oaks inclined 
To follow down the charmed wind. 

To Romulus, and Numa's reign, 
Cato, and Tarquin's haughty strain, 
To Regulus, and valorous Scaur, 
To unkempt Curius, great in war; 
Old Hickory, aye, and him we call 
Old Abe, best Romans of them all. 
Log-cabin boys, low-sprung, high-souled — 
Sing, Clio, to the great of old; 

13 



14 HORACE IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY 

To whom, when Time shall speak the word, 
Columbia adds a glorious third, 
Whose age matures through storm and strife, 
While Duty crowns the strenuous life. 

Scholar uncloistered, man of might, 

Statesman and warrior for the right, 

Administrator, — this thy son, 

Columbia, merits thy "Well done!" 

He brought our conquering banner home 

As Honor bade, across the foam 

Cervera dyed; by his decree 

A new RepubUc gems the sea. 

He keeps Old Glory flying far 

As Honor bids, above the war 

Which the brown bandit foe maintains 

Against the hand that broke his chains. 

As a Rough Rider leaps to meet 

The fiery bronco's flying feet, 

Bits the red mouth and grips the mane, 

Bounds on the beast and scours the plain. 

Subduing force by force, until 

He wins a coiu*ser to his will ; 

So may each influence malign 

Be moulded to his high design, 

Each foe o'ercome in righteous wrath, 

Each traitor driven from his path. 

And this his People's will decreed: 

" Success was thine, thyself succeed." 



LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY 

OH day of all the circling year 
To manhood and to duty dear — 
To us who love the flag he saved, 
To us who felt the pangs he braved, 
To those whose veins are tingling still 
With the red war's immortal thrill, 
Thy glorious dawn shall ever be 
A lasting pledge that we are free! 

Free from the slave's ignoble fate, 
Free from base prejudice, and hate, 
Free to fling out the Stripes and Stars 
Full to the rapturous airs of Heaven, 
And know there 's not a stain that mars 
The heritage to free men given! 
Oh, sacred, day, our latest breath 
Shall honor Lincoln's life and death. 

No pride nor pomp nor circumstance 
Removed him from the humblest chance ; 

To the plain people whom he loved 

His great soul ever faithful proved. 
The land he saved, the homes he blest. 
Delight to hail him first and best, 

Molded upon God's noblest plan, 

Emancipator, martyr, man! 



15 



FUNSTON OF KANSAS 

THE sunflowers bloom on the prairies, afar 
From the blood and the bluster of tropical war; 
The green fields of Kansas smile up to the sun, 
The water-wheels whirr and the long furrows run ; 
The sunshine of Kansas is flooding the earth 
With the splendor of springtime, creation's new birth; 
The prairie winds whisper of ripening sheaves, 
The bam swallows chirp 'round the nests in the leaves. 
And Fttnston of Kansas is charging the foe 
With a sword and a banner, a song and a blow. 

Funston of Kansas, the right sort of man. 
Right at the front when the fighting began, 
Rushing an ambuscade, charging on faith; 
Swimming a river, a rope in his teeth. 

Crossing a bullet-swept bridge on a lope, 
Rimning a race up the death-haunted slope ; 
Plunging right into the jungle ahead. 
Leading his men as brave men should be led — 
Oh, "young Lochinvar," in the brown khaki vest, 
When came such a cavalier "out of the West"? 

i6 



FUNSTON OF KANSAS 1 7 

Here 's health to the Funstons of Kansas, the men, 

Who 've carried Old Glory again and again 
Wherever their country has called them to go, 
Hot blood for the flag and cold steel for the men 
Oh, mother of heroes, Columbia, for thee 

A new song swells up from the isles of the sea. 

The stars of thy flag in new glory shall rise 

Through the battle-smoke clouding the Philippine skies, 
And the graves of thy sons, slain for thee, shall attest 
That of all they have loved, they still love thee best ! 



THE HOLIDAY SPIRIT 

MEN in the elder times 
Baited the beasts in play, 
And found it good to shed men's blood 
To make a holiday. 

The happiest to-day, 

Since men and times have changed, 
Is he whose feet on errands sweet 

Have wildest range. 

The wretched, by the path 

That leads to happiness, 
Still stand on guard; their prayers reward 

Those who help their distress. 

But those who heedlessly 

Pursue Life's narrow way 
Intent on self alone, and pelf, 

Miss the soul's holiday. 



i8 



THE "NEW YORK" 

BLUE be the billows thy proud keel 
Shall furrow with its share of steel, 
And brisk the breeze and blue the sky 
'Neath which thy glorious flag shall fly! 
Stout be the hearts that beat beneath 
Each frowning turret's armored sheath, 
And may the God of Battles pave 
With fame thy path across the wave! 

Faint o'er Lake Erie's shores the boom 
Of Perry's guns salutes the tomb 
Where 'neath the waves of Misery Bay 
The Lawrence and Niagara lay ; 
And while a keel our waters rides 
Who can forget Old Ironsides'^. 
But none or all of them could vex 
The calm of thy tremendous decks! 

Glide glorious down thy launching ways 
On this thy history's day of days, 
Great cruiser, whose baptismal name 
Ere it was thine was dear to Fame! 
Go forth in all thy splendid might 
To stop the wrong and speed the right, 
And may thy thunderous broadside be 
The trumpet-call of Victory! 



19 



OLD-FASHIONED WINTER 

HAIL, genial glow of frosty health, 
Old-fashioned Winter, hail! 
Here 's welcome to thine icy wealth 
And all thy glittering mail! 

The ozone crackles overhead, 

The runnel 'neath the hill 
Crisps blithely in its little bed 

And all at once is still! 

What though thy snow be slush below, 
Thy breath be sleet above — 

Just for the sake of long ago 
Here 's welcome and our love! 



20 



TO BARINE 

(Horace, Carm. II., VIII). 

BARINE, if your loveliness 
Were by one perjury the less, 
If your white hand or rosy smile 
Betrayed one blemish for your guile, 

I 'd trust you. But alas! instead. 
Once you 've forsworn your pretty head. 
With charms that still the brighter burn, 
The heads of all our youth you turn. 

Fair perjurer, would you be more fair. 
Your mother's ashes qmck forswear; 

Mock heaven, night's silent pageant, aye, 
The deathless gods enthroned on high. 

Venus will jeer, the Nymphs applaud. 
While Cupid, laughing at your fraud. 
Still fiercely whets his burning darts 
With blood from faithful lovers' hearts. 

And still young wooers throng in droves, 
New slaves ! Not even your cast-off loves 
Can bear to quit your faithless door. 
Though threatening oft to come no more. 

The mothers fear you for their boys ; 

Age dreads you! Cold amid their joys. 
The young wives shudder lest your spell 
Bewitch their lords who love them well. 



21 



THINGS TO BE THANKFUL FOR 

FOR eyes whose vision can pierce the blue, 
Where the sparrowhawk hangs like a mote in view. 
For ears in which Nature's harmonies ring 
As sweet as the music that sounds for a king. 

For hands that grapple the nearest task, 
And, tearing from Duty's face the mask 
Selfishness set there long ago, 
Show us the smile that we all would know. 

For feet that are firm and swift and strong, 
Tho' the way be rough and the race be long. 
For sinews sturdy to stand the strain 
Of a struggle with weariness and pain. 

For a heart whose chords are attuned to love 
The brute below and the God above, 
That yearns to infancy's frightened cry 
And the moan of the beggar passing by. 

For Life, Hope's nurse, and for Hope herself; 
For a modest share of the great world's pelf; 
For friendship's grasp and a hearthstone bright 
With the spark that kindles the darkest night. 



22 



HONOR-BOUND 

(Broadway, October 31, 1896) 

DOWN the deep canon of the street, 
Where continents in commerce meet, 
A thunderburst of color swept, 
A himdred thousand pulses leapt, 
As patriots cheered with rapturous cry 
Their best and bravest marching by. 

Red, white, and blue, from curb to dome. 

Old Glory flew, for God and home ; 

For all whose loss true hearts must break, 
For country's and for honor's sake ; 

Nor yet with sword and booming gun. 

As in the days of '61. 

Flag of the free, who can forget 

That once thy glorious folds were wet 

With freemen's blood? And for all years 
Since that dread time, our hopes and fears, 

Our homes, and our fond hearts shall be 

Forever honor-boiind to thee ! 



23 



THE EASTER LILY 

EARTH, tender, sinfiil earth, had trembled at the shock. 
But up in heaven there had been no weeping; 
Its awful mystery the tomb of rock 

In the black hush before the dawn was keeping; 
Prone on their shields the weary guards lay sleeping; 

A rose of Jericho, not far away. 
Stirred in its petals, as a breeze came creeping 
O'er Galilee, to greet the coming day! 

Over the garden 'round that tomb, 

Where never man had lain, 
There breathed a promise in the gloom, 

A thrill of rapturous pain ! 
The winged hosts, with bated breath, 
To see Him triumph over Death, 

From their high heaven looked down. 
The universe in ecstasy 
Waited for this — His victory. 

Whose brow should wear the crown! 

Man, heedless man, slept on; and one 
Wee angel stole from near the throne 
And sobbed a vigil by the stone. 

24 



THE EASTER LILY 2$ 

A tiny tear, clear as a drop of dew, 

Round as a pearl, rolled down — an angel's tear — 

Fell in the mould and so was lost to view 
A moment. 
In that moment all things new 

Became! And as afar proud chanticleer 
To hail the risen Lord exultant crew, 
The heavens glowed, as their dear king they knew, 
Vanished the shades! High in th' empyrean's blue 
A mighty paean sounded, and there grew 

Up from the ground where that small tear had rolled 

An Easter lily with its heart of gold. 



THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT 

NOT the joy of money-bags and not the pride of pelf, 
Not the glow of righteous satisfaction with one's self; 
Not the fervent Amen in a well-upholstered pew; 
Nor a self-indulgence in the excellent and true ! 

Not a lofty pity for vice in her squalid den ; 

Not a thankfulness that we are not as other men — 
But a warming into action of the cockles of the heart 
And a generous intention to take some poor fellow's parti 

Not in checks to buy red flannel for the little Hottentots, 
Nor in sermons for the Crofters, up among the thrifty Scots, 
Nor in richly crocheted mottoes in all kinds of colored wools, 
Nor illuminated vellums, good advice, and praying-stools! 

But in little acts of kindness, which like flowers 'neath the 

snow 
Raise a little mist of gratitude to show the heart below, 
And in shaking hands sincerely with some siifierer and 

leaving 
In his palm, or hers, a trifle, just to help to stop the grieving! 



26 



MEMORIAL DAY, 1892 

AGAIN they summon us, the years 
Whose call was stormy once with tears, 
Whose cry was fierce and wild with woe — 
How soft their voices now, and low. 
Among the graves, where heart 's-ease grow! 

No bugle stirs the blood to war, 

No hillside shows the cannon's scar; 
The winds are sweet with mignonette, 
O gentle, healing years — and yet 
Ye would not have our hearts forget ! 

Along the dear, accustomed way 
Once more with wistful feet we stray. 
Alone with our dead past ; no sounds 
From the rough world may pass these bounds, 
'T is calm beside the low, green mounds. 

Toil, passion, pride — not yours to sway 

The heart on this its holy day ; 

Here Grief has learned to love her seat. 
Here youth and age with reverence meet. 
Mingling in one commiinion sweet, 

O years, how tender is your touch 

To souls that sorrow overmuch! 

Deep down the daisied sod beneath. 
The sabre crumbles in its sheath. 
But deathless is affection's wreath! 

27 



THE PRISONER'S APPEAL 

AH, pity me, sweet sisters, stricken more 
Than is the common lot of womankind, 
Shut in an alien dungeon, weeping sore 

As one might weep who 'd left all hope behind — 
Yet never dotibting that the constant mind 
Of innocence may in time unblind 
Justice, who turned her back on me before — 
Me, hapless me, alone and stricken sore! 

Ah, pity me, all ye who never bore 

Another's meed of sorrow; help unbind 

The bonds of wrong that to its bleeding core 
Cut my poor heart! See was the law designed 
The weak and helpless to the dust to grind. 
To seal the doom of innocence maligned, 

The vials of decrepit spleen to pour — 

On hapless me, alone and stricken sore! 

The long night shrouds my cell, and, being o'er, 
The long day comes for which all night I pined, 

The weary day dies on the night's black shore, 
The long night comes again upon the wind 
To shadow Hope, sweet Hope that still enshrined 
In my fond soul your pity has divined 

Ere yet with aid my freedom to restore — 

Ye succor me, alone and stricken sore. 



28 



A MADONNA OF THE HOSPITALS 

MADONNA of the proud, pale face, 
Beneath the cap of snow; 
A minister of pitying grace, 
You softly come and go. 
Divine compassion's in the touch 

Of your serene white hand; 
They love you much who suffer much 
Along life's borderland. 

Madonna of the hospital, 

Gowned all in spotless white ; 
However dark the day befal, 

Your presence makes it bright. 
There 's healing in your calm, dark eyes, 

So grave, so deep, so true; 
Oh, well the invalids may prize 

Their bondage sweet to you! 



29 



THE CHRISTMAS BLESSING 

(The Original Legend of the Christ-Child and the Chrysanthemum) 

A LAGGARD morn! and the sombre wood 
Shivered to wild flakes wearily flying, 
For Earth was donning her weird white hood 
Under the trees where the snow was lying! 
Black were the ravens across the sky — 

And chimes from the castle rang merrily 
As under the trees, where the faggots lay, 
An old man groped — and 't was Xmas day! 

High o'er the vale where his poor hut stood 

The castle reared its wonderful towers, 
The sun that should shine on the evil and good 

Alike, shone first on its tropical bowers. 
Cherished and kissed them, so brave and bold — 

And Hngered there with a golden spark 
After the hunt in the vale was cold, 

And the sombre forest was dim and dark. 
Save for the elves : and the sinister gnomes, 

That in the Black Forest made their homes! 

30 



THE CHRISTMAS BLESSING 3 1 

"Grandfather," cried the little ones, 

At dawn in the hut hy the meagre fire — 
"There are no jewels like the sun's, — 

We know — but they vanish away, and we tire ; 
May not the Christ-Child's goodness bring, 

Even to us, of His bountiftil joys 
A real feast, and a song to sing, 

And a real blessing an4 real toys? " 
And they swallowed their black bread eagerly 

As the old man kissed them and hurried away 
With tears in his eyes, that they might not see — 

For the poverty of their Xmas day! 

The mournful song of the soughing pines 

And the melody of the swirling snow 
Soothed the gnomes in their mouldy mines, 

And filled the air with its music low; 
On the old man's ear came a tiny cry — 

Out of the gloom, where the forest slept. 
And ever anon, as the wind moaned by, 

It came again — as an infant wept! 

Quick to the rescue he hurried, and there, 

All in the snow-drift at his feet. 
Lay a nursling with golden hair. 

And a smile that was strange and divinely sweet ; 
Came the thought to his 'wildered sense : 

"What if the Christ-Child so hath come?" 
He snatched the waif and back through the dense 

And threatening forest he sped him home ! 



32 THE CHRISTMAS BLESSING 

"Grandfather, hasten! The table is spread — 

Oh the grace of this stranger child! 
See, there 's a glory about his head, 

And the sunset lingers where he has smiled! 
Tell us, whence came this wondrous one," 

But the old man answered never a word, 
And a melody died with the setting stm 

Soft as the "song of a secret bird"! 

Up from the graybeard's loving hold 

Rose and hovered that babe in air. 
Blessing the board and the bread so cold, 

Blessing the little ones gathered there! 
Into the twilight faded then 

The sudden grace of that heavenly glow — 
But the grandfather hurried forth again 

And followed it into the night and snow. 

Out from the forest vast and grim 

Over the drift whence the Christ-Child sprang, 
Lo! the strains of a heavenly hymn, 

The thrilling music the shepherds sang — 
The Christmas anthem! On he sped 

But sudden paused in a new surprise, 
Blooming there in the Child's snow bed 

Grew wondrous flowers before his eyes! 

"Christ's Anthems! " As he kneels and prays, 
The hymns die out in the peaceful night. 



THE CHRISTMAS BLESSING 33 

How his old face in their golden blaze 
Shines as he plucks the petals of light! 

There were songs and a feast in the castle high 
On the cliffs; but the faggot-gleaner's hearth 

Glowed with the blessings of the sky — 
Love and Mercy and "Peace on Earth." 



THE OLD FLAG AGAIN 

(March 4, 1897) 

FLING out her glorious folds again, 
Her Stripes and Stars exalt, 
Until before the eyes of men 

She glows from heaven's blue vault 
Once more the banner of the free, 

In deed, as well as name; 
And cursed let the craven be 
Who furls our flag in shame ! 

Fling out her folds ! Columbia knows 

No dastards when the cry 
Of her own sons, 'neath alien guns 

Imprisoned, sounds hard by. 
Fling out her folds! Let freemen feel 

They 're not a living lie. 
That rifled guns and ships of steel 

Protect them where they fly. 

There never was, nor shall there be 

While winds and waters flow 
A man, a State, by land or sea, 

To lay their honor low! 
And most we love their starry pride 

When we remember how 
To keep them stainless freemen died: 

They shall be stainless now! 



34 



COBBLE BLOSSOMS 

DEEP in its moss of golden green, 
Where sunlight pranked the laughing scene, 
And every little wandering wind 
Found ripples cool and flowerets kind, 
The violet's and the rose's breath 
Have faded softly out to death. 

The daisy and the goldenrod 

Have withered gently to the sod, 

Above which, when the butterfly 

In Summer's livery floated by. 

They shone in beauty; damp and cold 

November breathed above their mould! 

The wild flowers of the field and wood 
Will bloom again, for God is good. 
But what of man? The flowers that lie 
Here in the streets, shall they, too, die — 
Starved, ragged, prematurely old — 
Of hunger and neglect and cold? 



35 



FREE CUBA 

HERE 'S a heart for thy heart and a prayer for thy prayer, 
And a nation of freemen thy perils to share ; 
Here 's joy for the news of thy victories won; 
Now let thy machetes flash red to the sun! 
Here 's a hand for thy hands, and a shout of acclaim 
For the hour that free Cuba has won the proud name. 
Oh, island of beauty, oh, gem of the sea. 
May the stars in their courses do battle for thee! 

The women whose love is the light of our land, 

The men who for freedom forever will stand, 
The children whose sympathy quickens to see 
A serf in our seas where a free State should be ; 

The bone and the sinew, the brain and the heart 

Of our glorious coimtry have taken thy part, 
Though doubter and dastard sit quibbling afar 
On the rights of a tyrant, the court rules of war. 

Thy sisters in bondage have long years ago 
Won freedom, O Cuba, now strike the last blow! 

Adown the long coast from the Lakes to the Horn 

A continent waits for thy star to be bom ; 
And the winds of the forest, the tides of the main 
Will bear the glad tidings to mountain and plain, 

O Cuba, fair Cuba, free Cuba to be, 

That the banner of liberty floats over thee ! 



36 



SOME DISHONORED DIVINITIES 
I. VACUITY: 

THERE 'S a wild spirit in the bowls that brim; 
But over the spent chalice rests a spell 
Of loveliness ; 't is to the empty shell 

Chaos calls soft through aether's ocean dim. 

II. HATE: 

How dark and hot her blood is! Hot it leaps 
To sullen frenzy at a word, a name — 
Blotting out friendship, honor, love, and fame, 

As one black cloud whelms over moonlit deeps! 

III. TO HASHISCH: 

Hail, dream eHxir, Babylon's great king. 
Pillowed on beauty's bosom, shod with gold — 
Once let thy torch inflame man's reason cold- 
Is as a moth that 's like to bum his wing! 

IV ENVY: 

Best spur to effort, foe to pale ennui. 
Ambition were an orphan, and sweet Hope 
A ghost still lingering on Avernus' slope. 

If this dull, gray old world had none of thee! 

37 



38 SOME DISHONORED DIVINITIES 

V. OBLIVION: 

Sweet lotos-orbed, velvet- footed maid, 
That slippest o'er the wrinkled ocean's brim, 
Garlanded with blue flowers of distance dim — 

Is death the passport to thine Isles of Shade? 

VI. WEARINESS: 

Oh, the long, slow delight of rest begun — 
Of sinews all imbending, like the bow's 
That from her neck at dawn Diana throws 

Forgetting now even Endymion! 



AN APRIL DAWN 

WHEN dawn unbars the pale gray gates 
At which an April morning waits, 
The west wind pauses, passing by. 
To strew cloud blossoms in the sky, 
And, perched upon a lonely pine, 
A robin sings of auld lang syne. 

The swift, wild horses of the sea 
Toss their white manes in careless glee 
Out on the bar, where all the night 
They pawed, impatient for the light; 
And, save their long and rhythmic tread. 
Naught breaks the bird song's tiny thread. 

Full on the background of the dawn 
The stately pine's green crest is drawn. 
In outlines bold and dark, but swift 
As rough waves clash, or soft clouds lift, 
The picture is forgot — so shrill. 
So sweet, the robin's morning trill! 

What is it pictures to thine eye. 

Afar, an orchard's greenery. 

Below an old house, gabled low, 

Around which spring flowers love to grow 

Rare bird, whose earliest melody 

Echoes the sadness of good-by! 



39 



THE LADY OF DREAMS 

HER voice comes along the wind 
That falls at eve with fitful sighs, 
Until I think I must be blind 

Not to look up into her eyes ; 
Through all my veins the warm blood starts, 

And then, and then — alas, I know 
Not all Dan Cupid's magic arts 

Could bring her from the long ago! 

I hear the slipper on the stair, 

My heart beats, ah, once more "possest" — 
I turn, to greet my lady fair, 

A pansy at her snowy breast, 
A smile upon her warm red lips 

Such as the moon smiles on the sea — 
And oh, the sight of her 'd eclipse 

The sun of Austerlitz for me ! 

It 's odd, too, how the merest stir 
Of young leaves in an idle breeze 

Brings, out of nothing, thoughts of her, 
And how I hear among the trees 
40 



THE LADY OF DREAMS 4 1 

The rustle of her skirts! No sound 

Since Pan wooed Syrinx sets the air 
So softly whispering to the ground 

As does her fancied footfall there! 

I '11 never meet her face to face, 

My sweetheart with the breast of snow! 
I may but conjure up her grace 

And dream I loved her — ^long ago; 
The sweetness of that lovelit dream 

Alas, must still my soul's fond strife. 
For, sad and strange as it may seem, 

I never saw her in my life ! 



SKIPPER BROWN EYES 
The Twilight Tale of Her Voyage to Slumberland 

(To Emilie) 

SHE sails away on the sea of dreams, 
This little skipper with eyes of brown, 
As the firefly's torch in the twilight gleams, 

And the garish sun goes down ; 
Her bark floats over the grimy town 
To Slumberland and its silver sea; 
The spotless folds of her slumber gown 
Are no whit fairer than she. 

There are angel birds in the warm, still air, 

And the skipper laughs with her eyes of brown, 
As they sing to her old songs, sweet and rare, 

While her bark billows up and down ; 
They sing of a prince of high renown. 

And a princess ever so young and fair; 
But where is the princess had ever a crown 

Like the crown of her soft brown hair? 

Cometh a storm o'er the silver sea. 
That ebbs on the dreamer's land, 
42 



SKIPPER BRO WN E YES 43 

And the angel birds fade out to the lee 

Of this singular slumber-strand ; 
Is there a harbor by angels planned, 

From all storms, whatever they be. 
From the wicked fairies of Slumberland 

And the waves in its silver sea? 

Up, like a flash, comes the'httle brown head, 

And the brown eyes only see 
A billowy blanket of silk outspread 

On an ocean of dimity; 
But it 's fearlessly the skipper will flee, 

With a soft little barefoot tread. 
By the chart she learned on her bended knee. 

To the haven of mother's bed. 



JUNE 

WHEN June unbinds her rosy zone 
And fills the woods with rapture, 
The poet knows his heart is gone — 

And glories in the capture! 
The dumb world watches as she goes, 

Her beauty sets it crazy — 
Now pausing here to pick a rose, 
And there to drop a daisy! 

Her eyes are deep as heaven's blue, 

Now languishing, now laughing; 
Now whispering: Oh, be true, be true — 

And now divinely chaffing! 
The dimple in her milk-white chin, 

So she but smile, discovers 
A pit they all might tumble in 

To be done for — her lovers! 

The amorous branches, overbold. 
Catch at her as she passes, 

Her tender footstep thrills the wold 
And stirs the springing grasses; 

44 



JUNE 45 

The birds, with softly qtdvering wings, 

Fly down on either shoulder: 
No man may hear the song she sings, 

No impious eye behold her! 

But by the laughter of the brook, 

The fragrance of the blossom, 
We think we know the way she took 

And how she leaped across 'em; 
We hear her trailing robe — so sweet 

Its scent on hill and hollow, 
We long to see her flying feet 

And cannot choose but follow! 



ERICSSON'S RETURN 

GREAT Norseland, now all hail! 
Thou Viking-mother pale 
Of heroes, on whose birth 
The light not bom of earth 

Gleams from the shrouded pole ; Valhalla holds his soul. 
And now his body speed we home 
In conqueror's pomp across the foam; 

No blood-stained billows mark the progress of his bark, 
But swift and silent o'er the sea 
His war-ship bears him back to thee ! 

A thousand years ago 
Thy sons 'gainst wind and floe 
Found out our western land ; 
Foam-flecked, their venturous sail flew on thro' night and gale, 
And theirs the furrow free, 
Though lurked in every sea 
The iceberg's mailed hand! 

Not so sailed he who homeward comes 
To-day in state ; no beat of drums 
Nor glint of spears, nor arrows' hail, nor bloody sword, nor 
dinted mail 

46 



ERICSSON'S RETURN 47 

Attest his triumphs ! From the stars 
Upon the flag that floats above him, 
Her victories, more renowned than war's. 
Peace heralds, and a Nation love him! 

As from Valhalla's cloud-kissed dome 
The shades of heroes hail thee home 
We cry: God help thee, glorious Swede 
Who helped us in our hour of need! 



THE NEW ALL SOULS' DAY 

DEAR unforgotten dead, whose day- 
Comes once more with the circling year, 
With each new touch of tender May 
A tenderer memory holds you dear. 

Broad as the vault of heaven's blue 
Wells this new sympathy, and sweet 

As are the drops of pity's dew 

Come footfalls still of reverend feet. 

Fond pilgrimage ! From East and West 
And North and South, each to his own, 

With love for those we love the best 
And tears for those who left us lone ! 

Columbia loves her soldier sons 

Who died that she might live ; each grave 
Grows dearer as their echoing guns 

Boom faint o'er fields they fought to save! 

And so, with memories fond, and flowers 

A grateful nation's grief has led 
All chastened hearts these sacred hours 

To dedicate to their dear dead! 



48 



IN MEMORIAM 

J. R. B. 

HUSHED are now the tender sighs 
In the silence sweet of rest, 
Gone the question from the eyes, 

And the fever from the breast — 
Where white violet and rose 

Fading, too, in all their charms, 
Find their loveliest repose 

Nestling in my baby's arms. . 

On the brow so smooth and white 

Dawns the beauty of a day 
Hidden still from mortal sight 

That shall shine for him alway ; 
Blessing now his sweet release, 

Folded by a higher will. 
Here the dimpled hands at peace, 

Show the angels' kisses still! 



49 



THE CHRIST-MASS TREE 

A CEDAR grew in Lebanon, 
That goodly mount beside the sea, 
And breathed out to the morning siin 

Her balmy odors, faint yet free ; 
The air was fine as silver spun, 

The breeze blew aye from Calvary. 

Down in the valleys, far below, 
The mulberry and bearded grain 

And the gray olive loved to grow, 
Betwixt the mountain and the main; 

The cedar towered on high; her slow. 
Sweet fragrance filled the air with pain. 

It was on Calvary there grew 

That tree from whose accursed bough 
(Or was it cedar, cypress, yew, — 

It matters not, we love it now) 
A cruel hand would one day hew 

The cross on which He laid His brow. 

And, lo! the thorn had leagues afar 

With brooding sadness filled the breeze 

50 



THE CHRIST-MASS TREE 5 1 

And thrilled to greet the herald star, 
That marked it lone among the trees — 

And so, fond sinners that we are, 
May we, too, share these memories! 

Are there no wanderers by the way, 

No little ones with bleeding feet, 
No fainting souls that Hope might stay. 

No hungry hearts that Love might greet? 
Blow, breeze from Calv'ry, so we may 

Aye find the Master's labor sweet ! 

Sweet pain that thrills the world with bliss, 

Fond agony, that ransomed sin, 
Whene'er the winds of Heaven kiss 

The hills that shut the blue seas in, 
May we, too, deem no pang amiss. 

If to His love some soul we win! 



EASTER 
The Song of the Robin Redbreast 

HUSHED were the waves that through the long 
night sighing 
Had flung themselves on the complaining shore ; 
In the dark west the restless winds were dying, 
For winds must rave and die, forevermore. 

Far in the east, where foolish, fond Tithonus 

Once more released from his unwilling arms 
The roseate Dawn — for he has never known us 

More Modem mortals who adore her charms — 
There rose and fainted on the air, that trembled 

With prescience of a Day, — of days the best, 
The golden song of spirits, half dissembled, 

Half swelling in a melody confest. 

By all the air and sea forever blest. 

Under their caps of snow the mountains qtdvered 
And shook with joy at that soft, swelling strain; 

The brooks, in their half-frozen runnels, shivered, 
Then bounded on to the expectant main; 

52 



EASTER 53 

The silvery clouds that hung 

Where those sweet notes were sung 
Vibrated in a symphony divine. 

The shadows 'gan to flee 

Like ghosts across the sea, 
And one wee bird, perched on a lonely pine, 
Took up the theme and sang this song of mine: 

Oh, mother dear, Jerusalem, 

My heart goes out to thee ! 
The Nations pass and fail ; to them 
Thou art not even Bethelehem! 
And yet, to me, thou art the gem 

That sets His memory! 

Prone 'gainst the Eastern sky He hung 

On an accursed tree ; 
A thief on either side Him swung. 
While soldiers on His mantle ^x^% 
Their dice, and Nature's heart was wrung 

Such fearful sights to see ! 

Oh, cruel cross! oh, bleeding side! 

Oh, brow of agony! 
See, nails His poor white hands divide, 
And ruddy drops pour in a tide! 
While men, for whom He even died, 

Doubt still if it be He! 



54 EASTER 

Oh, stars and night and woe divine, 

'T was more than I could bear! 
My own breast for each cruel tine 
Bled, and I would His wounds were mine, 
And mine the veins that poured that wine 
Of blood beyond compare ! 

Oh, agony! oh, cursed tree! 

Oh, Mary's mother- wails ! 
In vain I fluttered there to see 
If but my beak could set Him free : 
His torture was too strong for me — 

I could not draw the nails! 

Yet here upon my breast I wear 

Thy seal, oh Blood of God! 
Here the blest fount, that dyed the air 
And crimsoned all the world so fair. 
Since He has risen, I too may share 

With those for whom it flowed! 



THE MIDWINTER GIRL 

BRAVE midwinter roses 
Bloom red in her cheeks, 
Where the wind's kiss discloses 
The posies he seeks. 

There 's a fine faery clangor, 

A wedding-bell tone. 
All about her; her languor 

Of lotinging is flown. 

* ' Incedit regina / " 

No queen to her throne 

Walks with majesty finer, 
Yet all of her own! 

Oh, where in all nature 

Is beauty like hers — 
A flower-fair creature 

So bonny 'mid furs! 



55 



AN INVOCATION TO MARCH 

MONTH the almanacs style vernal, 
Meteorologic fraud, 
By thy fits and starts infernal, 
By thy blizzards blown abroad; 

By the hearts thy conduct 's frozen 
And then broken into pieces. 

By the symbols thou hast chosen — 
Lion's claws and lambkin's fleeces; 

By thy wrecks upon old ocean, 
By the flowrets thou hast frosted. 

By thy bluster and commotion, 
By our patience long exhausted; 

By thy windy, wintry, wilful. 

Wanton waste of worthless weather, 

From our spring, already chillful. 
Vamoose — get out altogether! 



56 



A LETTER TO MY WIFE 

INTO the ranks of the Saracen horde, 
Marking the way for his flashing sword ; 
Into the maze of the fight and the dance — 

Of the steely sparks from the smitten lance ; 
Into the rush where the Arab steed 

Shivered to feel his rider bleed; 
Into the thick of the fray he cast 

With a loving look, if, so be, his last, 
With a clinging look that not death might loose, 

The Douglas cast the Heart of the Bruce ! 

Into the battles of life he wore. 

Into the din of the fight he bore, 
Ever close to his faithful breast. 

The heart of hearts that he loved the best! 
And the heathen raged, and the sirens sang. 

And the song of the sword on his armour rang, 
And the cynics laughed that he wore that charm. 

To nerve for the battle his good right arm! 
FQr there 's never a charm in their smoothest art 

Nor a shield to scatter their keenest dart 
Like the charm of the shield of the loving heart! 

57 



58 A LETTER TO MY WIFE 

Into the whirl of the busy town 

Where the lord of to-day is the morrow's clown, 
And lips that are false may be warm and red, 

And a halo may shine 'round a wanton's head; 
Where smiles are all that a friend may give 

And love is but water that 's poured in a sieve. 
There 's a charm I wear like the Heart of the Bruce, 

In a clasp of love that no other may loose, 
A heart bound fast by a golden chain 

To my own, and I long with a tender pain 
To be with you, my dearest, at home again! 



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